


would you save my soul (if you could)

by jdphoenix



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Episode: s01e20 Better Angels, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a really long day, what with the mind control and everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	would you save my soul (if you could)

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for "Better Angels" but this'll make more sense if you've seen it.

 

“I need you to hope […] that you will see again the faces of those you love.”

 

It’s late when the door swings open. No surprise there, the streets are crowded with people trying to get home now that they’ve been freed from that bullshit mind control - but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe he’s so late getting home because he was out celebrating with Mr. Picture Perfect Photographer and she who thinks Good Will is a legitimate source of work attire.

He sighs when he shuts the door behind him, sags against it like he’s glad to be home. Which is weird because who’d be glad to be alone after the shit this city just went through? Unless he really was with those two losers, then it makes sense.

“Long day?” she asks, all innocent curiosity.

He plasters himself against the door, clutching at his chest. “ _Jeez!_ Siobhan! What the _hell_?”

She smiles at him around the edge of the couch then kicks her legs up (he’s always liked her legs) before swinging them over the side to stand. She makes it halfway to the door - which isn’t far at all in this mouse hole of an apartment - before he reaches the obvious conclusion.

“Wait, you’re supposed to be-”

She rests her hand against the door next to his head. “In jail?”

He’s pale. He’s _scared_ of her. That’s a little disappointing.

Okay, a _lot_ disappointing.

He tried to get between her and that polyester bitch even after he saw what her powers could do. And now he’s afraid she’s gonna _what_? Scream his head off?

(There’s a voice in her head saying she should do just that, it’d serve him right, but she pushes it down the same way she pushed down that alien asshole’s mind control.)

“An alien enslaved the _entire city_ to do his _evil bidding_ ,” she says, “you think he was gonna leave the criminals in _jail_?”

He nods slowly, his eyes trailing off over her shoulder like he’s seeing the trail of her logic. “Right, right.” His gaze snaps back to her and it’s all anger and indignation, just like the early days. She likes it (a lot more than the fear, definitely). “You have to turn yourself back in-”

She moans and turns away. He is _such_ a boy scout.

“Siobhan, I’m serious!”

She leans against the back of the couch and he follows, coming right into her space like it’s nothing at all. His hands catch her elbows, trail down to her hands. The tingle they leave behind travels up her arms to her spine and leaves her warm all over. He’s so damn _earnest_ when he looks at her and that warms her too. (She can barely hear the voice anymore.)

“If you turn yourself back in, you’ll be doing the right thing. When you come up for parole, they’ll have to take that into account.”

“Winn,” she says and sees from his expression that her smile doesn’t come out as genuine as she hoped. She lets it fall and steps past him, dredging up her anger. Anger is good. Anger’s always worked for her. “I didn’t come here so you could tell me something so utterly obvious.”

“Then why _did_ you come here, Siobhan?” he demands - apparently he’s got a little anger too. “Because I’ve had a hell of a day and I don’t need my schizoid, supervillain ex-girlfriend showing up uninvited just when I think it’s finally over.”

The schizoid part is inaccurate - despite the prison shrink’s analysis (she doesn’t hear fictional voices; the banshee is very real); and the supervillain is a little sweet, honestly; but the ex hurts. More than it should.

Of course they’re broken up. She _threw him across a room_. And, yeah, he’s probably sore about her screaming his best friend out a window, but that’s _his_ problem.

She crosses her arms over her chest as she surveys the tiny breakfast table. It’s a mess - of course - with toys ( _collectibles_ , he always said) and dirty plates and used napkins. _Cloth_ napkins. (She told him paper towels made him seem cheap.)

She shrugs one shoulder. “I had nowhere else to go.”

He makes a sound, one she really doesn’t want to know the meaning behind so she doesn’t turn to see his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few seconds, during which she’s moved on to his crammed bookshelves, “but you do: jail. Now, you know where I think you should go and I’m not gonna drag you down there myself - mostly because I’m exhausted - but you can’t stay here, so-”

“I thought of you,” she says, turning all at once to face him because, for this part, she’s really gotta see what he’s thinking. “When that Superman wannabe was talking about hope, I thought of you, okay? _That’s_ why I’m here.” She throws the words down like a gauntlet, daring him to say something snide or cutting. Because he’s gotta, right? She’s the bad guy.

His shoulders slump and his face does that pouty-angry thing it always does when he’s really pissed at her. “You tried to kill my best friend.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Okay? I tried to kill Kara. Because - guess what - the only way to cure me is for her to die. It’s not _my fault_ that I’m cursed.”

He shakes his head. “God, you’re a mess.”

“Well, you knew that when you kissed me.”

The look on his face is just the best thing she’s seen in weeks. “When _I_ kissed _you_? _You’re_ the one who grabbed me and threatened to kill me if I told anyone about it! Which, in retrospect, is actually a lot more scary than hot.”

“No it’s not,” she says dryly.

He tips his head. “No, it’s not.”

And then he shakes his head furiously and she just can _not_ stop smiling at this point. It’s a problem. _He’s_ a problem.

“But that’s not my point!” he snaps. “You tried to kill Kara!”

“Yeah, we established that like two flirty exchanges ago.”

He smiles. (God, she loves his smile. No one ever smiled in prison - unless they were insane and that always kind of ruined the effect.) “And it needs to be established,” he says in a leading sort of tone, “because I just need it out there that nothing that’s happened undoes that or makes it okay or anything. All right?”

She shrugs. She’s not about to apologize - and she’ll try again first chance she gets - so that’s fine with her.

“Good,” he says, and then he’s crossed the room in two quick strides to kiss her.

 


End file.
